


the last good thing about this part of town

by plinys



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - The Proposal Fusion, Fake Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 22:04:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2523386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Facing deportation from the  and in a last ditch attempt to remain in the country, Connor “I Don’t Do Boyfriends” Walsh proposes to his long term fuck-buddy. The problem is while Connor is technically only doing this for a green card, Oliver actually believes that this is the real deal. That and the fact that this whole thing is very much illegal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the last good thing about this part of town

**Author's Note:**

> So, I told myself that the HTGAWM fandom was still new and nobody wanted a long wip au fic, but then I was proven wrong haha by so many people coming into my tumblr inbox and being like "jess write the thing" so uh, i wrote the thing!

This whole thing is absurd, and as far as Connor is concerned anybody that disagrees is clearly mental.

Though the sanity (or lack there of) of the person that had brought the papers did not change any of this from being very real.

That doesn’t change the fact that he’s less than a month away from being _deported._

“I’m not even a foreigner! I’m from _Canada,_ that’s practically America!”

“Not according to the immigration office, as far as they’re concerned you either magically become a US citizen or you leave, _forever_ -“

“Shut up, Asher, it’s just a year,“ Michaela says, because she’s trying to be helpful, but it doesn’t work at all.

“Just a year,” Connor’s voice has reached the point of near hysteria now. A point that he had only ever reached twice before in his life, once when he was eight with a broken leg and an older brother that insisted he could set it no problem, and the second time when his car breaking down led to him missing one of the toughest finals of his life. This though topped both of that as the worst experience of his life, “one year in Canada, right after we’ve just opened our own law firm.”

“Guess that means one last name on the building,” Asher says, because he’s a piece of shit and Connor is really second guessing the life choices that led to making a law firm with that idiot as part of it.

“Can’t one of you lot marry me or something? Then I’d get a green card and none of this would be a problem.”

The whole group begins to talk at once, two of his so called friends reminding him that they were already in relationships, and one insisting that he did not swing that way, the only one that hadn’t spoken was -“Lauren?“

“Laurel. My name is Laurel, how does nobody ever seem to be able to remember that!?”

“So that’s a no?”

“That’s a no.”

“You know, maybe if somebody wasn’t such an ass-“

“Ouch,” Connor quips sarcastically.

“You might have had a friend outside work that you could convince to take part in this _highly illegal_ scheme,” she finishes, smoothly ignoring his interruption.

“It’s not like we’ve never done anything illegal before,” he points out.

“The answer is still no, Connor, I’m not being you green card wife.”

“We wouldn’t even have to consummate the marriage,” he tosses her way in one last ditch attempt.

“You know there are other ways you could do this? Visas or permits, just go down to the immigration office and talk to them.”

Yeah- no, he’s not doing that.

\---

It’s not that he doesn’t have friends.

Connor _has_ friends.

Or well decent acquaintances.

The thing he doesn’t have is relationships.

The closest thing he has to commitment is the guy that he hooks up with on a semi-regular basis, who is kind enough to send Connor dick pics late at night when he gets off work and is horny as all hell, or meet up during their respective lunch breaks for a quick fuck in the back of his car.

It’s nice and pleasantly no strings attached, which is exactly the sort of thing that Connor likes in his life.

The closest they had gotten to domestic was when he stayed over one night and Oliver had made him bagels in the morning. He had insisted around the snack that what they were doing wasn’t any sort of relationship thing, and the other man hadn’t denied it just told him to shut up and enjoy his breakfast.

Those bagels were good, and so maybe they’ve had a repeat of that event, but that was all it was, breakfast and a good fuck.

Psychologists would probably blame his inability to form a real lasting relationship with another human being, on the fact that his parents got a divorce when he was six and then shipped him off to boarding school the next year.

(But they always liked to blame family issues for those sorts of things.)

Republicans would blame it on the fact that he’s about as gay as they come, and perfectly happy with that.

(But they’re all homophobes anyways.)

Those vague acquaintances of his would blame it on his abrasive attitude and inability to act like a normal person.

(But they’re probably right.)

The only person that seems to gets it right at all is the one sitting at the kitchen table across from him, eating a bagel, and pretending to do the crossword as his glasses slip down his nose. The one person who looks at Connor in the middle of his vague rant about marriage and psychologists and his need for better friends- none of which is a discussion about the ticking time bomb that is his upcoming deportation- and says, “you’re a divorce lawyer,” simple and to the point.

“Yeah, exactly,” Connor agrees before stuffing the rest of his bagel into his mouth.

“If I wanted a guy that I could take home to meet my mom it would have been,” and for a second he wonders what word it is that Oliver struggles over saying before, shrugging and settling on, “somebody else.”

“Somebody else,” Connor echoes, “you know I don’t like you talking about other people.”

Oliver’s laugh in reply makes it so obvious that he understands, that Connor needs to be able to make these jokes otherwise things will become too real, and when he replies, “well maybe you should do something about that,” it’s just what he needs.

“I think I will.”

\---

“Late again,” a voice chirps at him as he slides into the office for their meeting.

“How is your ass not sore?”

“Who says it’s my ass,” Connor quips back before taking a long around the rest of the senior partners.

None of them look amused in the slightest, not that that’s any different from their usual expressions. Well actually- Wes isn’t using his _constantly confused_ face so it is a bit of an improvement.

He shrugs his shoulders, and lies, because at this point in his life lying is almost second nature, “I was trying to find a way not to be deported.”

A very small part of him (like smaller than the Grinch’s heart) feels bad when Laurel gets this little look on her face and asks, “any luck?”

She may have turned down his propositions of green card marriage, but she still was pretty nice.

Though speaking of green card marriages- “actually, _yeah_.”

\---

“Are you looking for a wedding ring-”

“Band,” he corrects the woman behind the counter, “I’m looking for a wedding band.”

Her coo is exactly the reason why he didn’t want to do this, but Connor had enough class to know that if he was going to somehow convince his fuck-buddy to take part in a fake relationship with him so that he didn’t get deported, that they would need to make this convincing for the immigration office. So he let’s himself be prattled at by the store employee and smiled on cue with her coos about how “happy you must be,” and how “you must really love him.”

“Yeah, I do,” Connor says, this lie easier than his others, “now help me figure out how to make sure he knows that.”

When he leaves the jewelers nearly two hours later it’s with a heavyweight in his suit pocket, and a plan- and plan that first involves stopping off at the nearest chinese restaurant and grabbing take-out that he knows if certain to win the other man over.

Though the take-out is quickly forgotten when Connor gets to his apartment.

Of course, that was to be expected.

That’s their usual, it’s only once they’ve finished when they’re lying in bed, and he’s doing his best to catch his breath that he remembers.

Connor gets up and out of the bed so quick, that Oliver jumps to all the wrong conclusions, “leaving already,” he asks sounding a bit upset by the whole thing.

“No,” Connor answers, “just stay there I need to get something,” he pauses looking around the room, “where’s my jacket.”

“Living room,” Oliver offers, and sure enough once Connor’s ventured out of the bedroom he finds the jacket, with it’s prize still in his pocket, and takes the box back to the bedroom. Oliver has stayed exactly where he put him, lying back on the bed giving Connor an amused expression that makes him very much want to go back to exactly what they had been doing before.

“I don’t normally do this-“

“What? Meet a guy at a bar, take him home, and become casual fuck buddies in order to get rid of the stress of your day jobs, while refusing to do anything that people in real relationships do.” Oliver asks, “because really, that’s exactly the guy I pegged you for.”

“Not that,” Connor says, settling onto the bed and taking opening his hands so that the box can be seen, black and stark against the white bed sheets

“I don’t mind you know,” he continues, not looking down at the box but instead meeting Connor’s eyes, “I mean, not exactly the life I dreamed up for myself but the sex is great, and-“

“Marry me.”

“What?”

“Yeah- I,” he looks down at the box, and this time Oliver’s eyes follow his widening at the sight,  “Marry me?”

For a second he looks stunned, then he leans forward to open the box so that the gold ring can be seen. He doesn’t look horrified or angry, as Connor would have had their situation been reversed, but he does look surprised and maybe a bit- fond, but that can’t be right.

“This is why,” Oliver stops and starts, fumblings at the nightstand for his glasses, as if he has to double check to be sure that what he sees is really there, “this morning, at breakfast, this is why you were talking about all that.”

Connor shrugs his shoulders, but it’s about enough of an answer.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I know this is sudden, and before you completely turn me down I can explain, it’s kind of crazy actually-“

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Really,” he asks, because now he’s the one that’s not certain that he’s not dreaming. He had hoped that Oliver would agree to this crazy scheme, but he had figured he would have to explain things more. Actually the idea that Oliver would accept without Connor explaining the deportation would mean- “oh.”

“Oh?”

Connor can’t explain, so he just shakes his head, because there’s only one real thing that this can mean, and it’s that Oliver, who has always been okay with the no strings attached thing, who Connor had thought was like him in that aspect, who understood him- thought that this was real.

He almost felt a bit bad about it.

But he needed this, and if Oliver was willing, well it was only for a year or two, or get his greedcard, right?

“ That’s, just like that, no questions- you’ll marry me?”

“Why not?”

It would be too easy to answer that question with the obvious, _maybe it’s because I don’t mean it and I’m just using you so I don’t get deported_ , but instead he shrugs his shoulders and says, “good point.”

 


End file.
